


Welcome Home

by hunteriheroici (spacebarista)



Series: After the Fall [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/hunteriheroici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fell into a post-hunt routine: she'd patch him up and he'd tell her tell her everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Добро пожаловать домой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338877) by [Araphel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araphel/pseuds/Araphel)



> I've had it in my head that when the angels fell, Lisa and Ben remembered Dean, that what Cas had done had been undone. Dean splits his time between Battle Creek, the Bunker, and jobs, and Lisa gives him his home back. 
> 
> I plan to write a reunion and everything out, but I wanted to write this first for my friend Mori.

Lisa sat in the bay window, cradling a hot cup of tea close to her chest. She’d opened the curtains to watch the street, dark and glistening as it rained. He’d called her a while ago, saying he was an hour out. He’d asked if he had woken her, and she’d said no. It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t sleep well knowing he was out there. And that he might not come home.

She took another sip of her tea. It was very late, which she was grateful for. Dean would be, too. He loved Ben, but being pestered about his hunt was the last thing he wanted when he got home, and these late nights when he came back and Ben was in bed were the easiest. She could sit him down, make sure he was okay, get him into the shower, and get him in bed. That’s what Dean wanted. 

She glanced the clock in the hall. It’d been just over an hour. He’d be in any minute. 

As if hearing her thoughts, the distant rumble of the Impala echoed through the neighborhood, headlights appearing at the end of the street. She put her mug down on the wide windowsill and made her way to the door, heading out to stand on the porch. She wrapped her arms around herself as the car slowed, and smoothly pulled into the driveway. She stayed where she was, watching as Dean grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and emerged from the car. Shouldering the bag, he shut the door and walked towards her, not meeting her eyes. 

He took the three stairs to the porch slowly, and came to a stop right in front of her, finally meeting her eyes. He looked tired, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, and there were light shadows under his eyes. She knew he was hurt, he always was, but she wasn’t going to push it until they were inside. Instead, she smiled at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed, grinning a bit. No matter how tired or hurt he was, he always grinned back. He looked like he wanted to say more, but chose instead to close the distance between them, pulling her into him with one arm. He leaned into her a bit, but she didn’t mind. She held him up, wrapping an arm around him and resting her hand on the bagless side of his back. 

She could feel him bury his nose in her hair, breathing her in, and she took the time to do the same. He’d been gone just over a week, and she’d missed his comforting presence and the smell of smoke and gunpowder and a hint of aftershave. She’d missed him. Sniffing, he pulled back, and she grabbed his hand before he could move it out of reach. “Everything go okay?”

He shrugged, and she didn’t miss his wince at the movement. “I got it done.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She squeezed his hand, and he shook his head.

“Not right now. Just want to get cleaned up.”

Lisa nodded. She always offered, and he’d always take her up on it later. She’d explained to him, after the angels fell and she called him in tears and he came back, that she wanted him to be able to talk to her. She could do this, but he couldn’t shut her out. She’d listen to everything, good and bad, truth and lie, just so he wouldn’t keep things bottled up. So she’d understand. So everything wouldn’t go wrong like the last time. She wanted to be his support. Luckily, he’d finally been willing to lean on her.

She pulled him inside, promising that Ben was asleep and that he could shower after she’d checked him out. He’d nodded, following her into the kitchen. She turned the lights up slowly as he settled in at the table, dropping his bag to the floor. She pulled a chair up to sit in front of him, and gently took his chin in her hand to look at a nasty looking cut close to his hairline. “Anything I can’t see?”

Dean sighed, nodding into her palm. “I think I pulled something in my shoulder. Definitely bruised some ribs. I got a cut up my arm. Scraped my leg.”

Lisa nodded thoughtfully, looking over a small cut on his lip. His face would be a little bruised, but the cut on his lip was a bit older than the one on his head, so it wouldn’t be so bad. She let go of his chin, running her fingers over his jaw. “Want to shower while I get everything together?”

He nodded again, and she stood, gathering his bag so he could rest his shoulder and she could put it in the wash. He smiled a bit at that. “I can carry that you know.”

“Hush. You’re home now, so I get to baby you. Go get in the shower.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She listened to him go up the stairs, heading into the laundry room to throw his clothes in the wash. All of them were dirty, some with blood, some with sweat, and some just with dirt. He kept all of his comfortable clothes in their room, so he wouldn’t mind her taking a day to wash them. 

By the time she made it to the bedroom, he was still in the shower. The bathroom door was open, a bit of steam filtering out. Dean loved hot showers after a hunt, and he loved them long. Until he’d started working at a garage nearby, one that didn’t mind frequent trips to Kansas and beyond (especially for a mechanic as gifted as he), he’d tried to keep it short, to save her money and hot water. But she’d never said a word, and she was happy to see him letting himself get comfortable because he knew he was helping.

She walked into the room, watching the shape of his body through frosted glass. They’d long become intimate enough to allow each other in the room when they were showering (or bathing, which Lisa was happy to share with him occasionally), back when he lived with her before. They knew each other’s bodies, they felt no need to really hide. But Dean had new scars now, and she was still finding more (she’ll never be over the claw marks on his side, from a _hellhound_ of all things). 

She gathered her jacked up first aid kit and sat on the counter, swinging her legs and listening to Dean groan in pleasure and pain. it was another five minutes before he emerged, steaming and dripping. She tossed him a towel and he caught it, grinning at her. “Like the view?”

“Always.” She could see the bruising he was talking about, coloring the ribs on his left side. He was still favoring his left shoulder, and she made a mental note to put a heating pad on it and talk him into letting her rub it later. He carefully dried his face, hair, chest, and arms before wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out of the shower, moving to stand in front of her. 

He knew the drill. Lisa would go through the kit and clean and patch up what she could. Usually if he had really bad injuries, he’d go back to the bunker, where Sam could patch him up and he could lay up for a few days, calling and checking in, before returning to her. She wasn’t as good with stitches as Sam was. 

She started with his arm. He had a clean cut running up most of the outside of his forearm. It had started to scab already, but she took an alcohol pad and dabbed it against his skin. He was used to the sting of the alcohol, and rarely made even a bit of fuss over it. She put some gauze over the cut before wrapping his arm lightly, her lips twitching as Dean made some comment about “worried moms” and “over bandaging”. Her eyes flicked up to his face before she gently pressed a kiss to the cut through the white cloth. 

It was part of their routine. Dean didn’t get affectionate touches. He never really did. He’d admitted to her one night that the most he’d ever gotten was from her, if not Sam. The look on his face whenever she touched him, like he _craved_ gentle touches, devastated her. And she made it her goal to be as affectionate as possible without him needing to “punch a wall to feel manly again” (his words, not hers). So she always kissed his injuries. Even when he had already been patched up by Sam. Because she wanted him to know she cared, and that she didn’t mind the scars.

Lisa beckoned for him to move closer, so she could get his head and check his lip. He grinned wider, bracketing her with his arms as he leaned against the counter. She scooted back a bit. As much as she wanted to be nose-to-nose with him, she wanted to make sure every cut was cleaned and covered. _Then_ she would do as she pleased. She tilted his head down to dab at the cut at his hairline, his freshest, with an alcohol pad. He winced a bit, but said nothing. She closed it as gently as she could with butterfly strips, then tipped his chin up with a finger to check his lip.

She glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, and he seemed relaxed and comfortable. Happy. It meant the world to her that he was happy. After the accident, she felt something was missing. She tried to go on a few dates, but she found herself comparing them to someone she couldn't remember. Sometimes, she would find herself staring out the window, waiting for something, but she didn't know what. And almost every night, she dreamt of a man with bright green eyes and an achingly gentle touch, but she couldn't figure out his name. Ben had similar feelings and dreams. Waiting for someone to come to his games, but no one new showed up. Thinking someone was checking in on him at night, but no one was there. Knowing parts of a car engine, but never remembering being under the hood. 

Dean. It was _always_ Dean. And it took the angels falling for the Braedens to remember.

She didn't need to clean the cut, it was nearly healed. But she kissed it anyway, the bruised and split spot at the corner of his mouth. His eyes fluttered open as she pulled back. He didn’t say a word. He just looked at her, his expression bordering wrecked. He started and stopped, like he wasn’t sure want to say. Finally, he sighed. His eyes never left hers. “It was a wife.” When she cocked her head in confusion, he took a deep breath. 

“The job. It was this guy’s wife. She... she died in a car accident. She didn’t move on. She stuck around, killing anyone who wronged him. Because she loved him.” He laughed then, soft and bitter, and he finally broke eye contact as he bowed his head. “Turns out the guy cut her breaks. Had a bit on the side and had to get rid of his wife for her. I burned her before she got to him. How fair is that? Dick gets to live while his devoted gets shafted.” 

Lisa got why it upset him without having to hear it herself. She rested her hands on the back of his neck and pulled him to her, hiding her face in his damp hair. “I’m here, Dean. Can’t shaft me. Not like that anyway.” He laughed for real this time, letting her kiss his hair before straightening again. His eyes were a little red and watery, but she didn’t say a word, framing his face with her hands. 

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, genuine and relieved. “What kind of shafting _can_ I do?”

Normally, Lisa would slap his shoulder. But he’d hurt it and she didn’t want to make it worse. Instead, she smirked. “The kind that would require you to remove the towel, Winchester.” He smiled and leaned in, kissing her tenderly and sweetly. She rested her forehead on his, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I mean it. You won’t get rid of me so easily this time.”

Dean let out a wispy laugh, bumping her nose with his. “I can’t, Lise. Not anymore.”

Her heart melted. In the months since they’d been reunited, it was the closest he’d gotten to saying what she knew she felt. And it meant everything. She kissed him deeply, putting a bit of passion in it, and she swore she heard Dean growl. She nipped his lip as she pulled back, her forehead on his again. “How about you and I get into bed, lose the towel and the clothes, and you show me how much you missed me?”

A wicked grin crossed the man’s face. “Whatever you want, Ms. Braeden.”

His shoulder felt a bit worse the next morning, but with Ben needing someone to catch with, he got a very nice massage for his troubles. And some new scratches.


End file.
